


white magic

by schwanenkoenigin



Category: Fifth Harmony (Band)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Magic, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Charmed References, F/F, Humor, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-03 09:58:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/schwanenkoenigin/pseuds/schwanenkoenigin
Summary: "You've been granted a second chance. Don't waste it."*Charmed AU





	1. the end (going nowhere)

**Author's Note:**

> so basically: this was originally two pieces. the first chapter is the first fic, the following chapters is the other fic. just, like, divided. 
> 
> i had the glorious idea to put them together because the first one wasn't supposed to end well (i was bitter about lauren bashing us when i wrote it. sue me.) but then one of my fics reached 100 kudos and i figured i should probably be celebrating by posting something... lighter? or at least something that has a happy ending soooo like, here i am. posting my first multi chapter fic.
> 
> enjoy!!

It has been two months. Two months of endless suffering. Two months of sleepless night after sleepless night. Two months of wishing that the tablets help her feel something, anything, just  _once_. Two months of not wanting to get up in the morning. Two months of hoping that she doesn't make it through the day.

Because, at the end of it, she always returns to an empty bed with unmade sheets, anyway. It's the same routine. Every goddamn day. It's been the same routine for two months.

(It feels like it's been years.)

Lauren still only has one thought. One lonely thought. That she doesn't want to, doesn't  _have a reason_ to make it through. She doesn't think she's ever going to be able to think anything else again. There is only room for one thought in her brain anymore. She's too damaged to think about anything else. Has been ever since– _two months ago_.

Reaching for the half empty bottle of vodka on her nightstand, Lauren attempts getting up from the dirty bed. It doesn't work on the first try. She groans and lies back down next to three bags of chips and five empty bottle of various liquors she doesn't even like – each and every single one see-through, and each and every single one without a label.

The bottle still in hand, Lauren tries to get up again. It works this time. She laughs bitterly at herself for her failed attempts as she stands on her gray carpet.

The first sip of vodka makes her close her eyes and breathe in through her nose quite soundly in relief. "Still doesn't fail to cheer me up," she slurs sarcastically, throws the bottle somewhere on the bed where it makes a horrible sound clinking with the other bottles, and then she leaves her bedroom. "Maybe shouldn't have too much o' that today, though."

Laughing, Lauren remembers she needs to take her medication. Just today. But she's going to.

So she gets dressed – black sweater and a pair of jeans with a  _lot_  of holes in it should do – and enters the kitchen. She approaches the ugly table standing in the middle of the room. Takes a look at the small, light boxes. Reaches for them. Then, upon realizing they're empty, and remembering they've been so for _days_ , she huffs. "Fuck you." The insult leaves her mouth as she throws them on the floor. She proceeds to kick them somewhere under the sink. "Whatever. No meds." Not caring is the solution. And Lauren doesn't care. She hasn't cared in two months.

Exactly two months.

* * *

The flower shop is busy. Lauren sighs and makes a point of rolling her eyes at every single customer. She just needs to get this over with.

Because – seriously – everyone's far too happy for her taste. She wants to not be here anymore.

Someone's getting married soon, someone else is planning a surprise party for their girlfriend, a third someone has just been offered this  _amazing_ job and is celebrating on their own.

And Lauren is– is just among them. Trying to fit in. Somehow. The same way she's been trying to for the past two months. Or so she tells herself. The truth is, however, she rarely leaves the house anymore. Ever.

What's the point, anyway? It's not like she has any birthdays or weddings or parties to plan. Or to attend. She doesn't care about her own birthday. She's not sure if she even remembers when it is.

Finally, she's reached the counter with all the too brightly colored flowers sitting atop it. There's a girl she remotely recognizes behind it.

Maybe Lauren's been here before. Maybe she hasn't. When she looks up, the girl's face seems to show signs of concern.

"Oh, um– it's you. I– what can I do for you?" the girl asks politely, but the saddest of smiles graces her features.

Now, if Lauren cared about anything at all, she'd notice. Notice the sad smile. Notice her demeanor. Notice  _her_. Realize she's given her flowers once before. Notice how the girl  _knows_. Lauren would  _notice_. But she doesn't. All she says is, "Give me the most beautiful–  _thing_ – you have."

She desperately hopes she sounds so vague the girl behind the counter is going to ask her to specify. And then– Lauren is going to snap at her and start a fight. In hopes she won't be allowed to ever come back here. Because then she'd– "Sure. Of course." The girl doesn't even hesitate saying the words. Another glance is thrown her way, but Lauren doesn't notice.

Instead, she blinks. Nothing has happened. The girl simply disappears in the back of the shop, a few minutes pass, and she's back.

Now, Lauren might not care about  _anything_ , except– it's a lie. There's this _one_ thing.

It's  _this_. She does notice how perfect the bouquet she's handed looks. That there are flowers of all kinds in it, most of which she absolutely doesn't recognize. She does notice all the shades of blue, purple, red, and yellow that are in it. For a moment, she's lost in all the colors. She notices them all. Takes them in. It doesn't happen anymore that she's so truly lost in anything. It– it hasn't happened  _lately_. But it's happening now. And Lauren doesn't know what it feels like to cry anymore, and she doesn't want to experience it, so she looks at the girl in front of her. With the faintest of smiles. She doesn't have the energy for more.

The girl  _notices_. She smiles back. There might be tears in  _her_  eyes, too, because she  _knows_.

* * *

Lauren has tried to muster up the courage to do this  _at all_  for the past minutes. As she was walking here, she tried convincing herself that it's something she  _has_  to do. It's exactly like drinking in that way.

And now here she is, walking through the big gates for the– she doesn't know how often she's been here. Maybe once, maybe twice, maybe more. It's nerve-wracking. Nothing is ever nerve-wracking because Lauren usually doesn't care. The only thing she cares about is this. Which makes  _this_  a sort of special occasion, and Lauren  _notices_. She sees that the gate's color is almost completely faded. She sees lonely men and women walk past her. They are all like her.

And the similarity doesn't have anything to do with hair.

Or clothes.

Just– they all have a certain _look_ on their faces.

Lauren doesn't greet anyone. Doesn't know if she's ever met any of these people before. It's not probable. So why should she care?

She does see the vines on the walls on her right and left. And she notices how colorful they seem, compared to the dull gray gates and walls. They're green.

Her eyes used to be green, too. She remembers. Faintly. Now they're– she doesn't know. Or care. Can't remember the last time she looked into a mirror.

It takes a long time for her to reach the– the  _place_.

Once she has, she looks at the flowers in her hand again, then bends down to put them into the little black vase that's been here for two months.

She kneels down after that. Not caring if her pants get dirty or not. Not caring if anyone sees her. Right now, she cares even  _less_  about everything but  _this_.

And then, it's like a completely different Lauren takes over.

"Camila," she says, and the word isn't slurred at all. It's warm, full of emotions.  _Soft_. She sounds _vulnerable_. "It's been two months today. Two months since you were taken away from me. I still don't know why that had to happen. I know that there's this whole grand design thing, and  _everything happens for a reason_ but–" she laughs, "the only reason I can think of for that happening is the universe fucking hates me. And I'm not so sure how I feel about that." Her laughter is gone soon enough. She looks up at the sky. It's blue, she notices. Not a cloud is to be seen. "You know, I still feel empty. No meds have helped fill the hole that your death has left me with. It takes hours until I can even convince myself to get up because– because what's the use? You're not there. All I have is vodka. And– all these other kinds of alcohol that I can't even fucking pronounce. And let me tell you a thing. As much as I like to believe the drinking helps, it doesn't. It makes me forget you for half a day, but the dreams haunt me nevertheless."

Lauren is now staring at the large three behind Camila's grave. "You know, I still don't leave the house. Why, you ask me? Because I see you in every tree. In the grass. They're green. It's all green. And I know how much you loved green. You loved my eyes, you loved me, and now I can't get myself to love grass anymore. Even  _look_  at it. It's too painful to be reminded of you. I can't do it." Lauren smiles through the first tear that rolls down her cheek.

"I can't go to the grocery store if I'm not completely wasted. There are so many things that remind me of you. And if it's not even just  _things_  reminding me of you, it's colors, too. I see you in the red Volkswagen that always parks down the road. You wore a red bow on our first date." Genuine laughter leaves Lauren's throat at the memory. "You spilled red wine on your shirt that night, too. And, God, what's the chance of me ever forgetting that?  _Exactly_ , there is none."

A few birds are chirping in the distance, and there's chatter, too, but none of it matters.

"Then there's– God, the sign in front of the store is yellow. And you know damn well that I won't ever be able to stop connecting the color yellow to you. You just had to love bananas that much, didn't you?" Lauren shakes her head and sighs. "Of course it gets worse once I'm  _inside_  the store. Bananas are cheaper. Lettuce is half off. Red napkins are waiting for me to be haunted by them. I cannot live like this. It's not fair."

By now, Lauren's cheeks are soaked by tears. But she doesn't wipe them. She doesn't care about what people might think.

Okay, admittedly, she's on a  _cemetery_. Nobody's going to judge her for _crying_.

Except maybe Camila. She's probably having the time of her afterlife sipping cocktails and grinning like mad because Lauren's so haunted by– by everything _Camila_.

"So I told you how I can't see grass or trees anymore already. Sure. Okay. Living in the city doesn't come with a lot of walks through the forest, anyway. But how about this," Lauren continues bitterly, "I can't even look at the _sky_! Because– because your favorite shirt had _white_ in it! And– and  _blue_? You gave me this– this _horrible_ drawing you'd made one time. And it– it was blue. Had– had a blue background." Lauren accusingly puts her index finger up and points at the grave. "I swear to God, Camila Cabello–" she manages to threaten through gritted teeth before completely losing it.

She becomes a tiny ball of tears and sobs as she kneels there, hands covering her pale face. "How am I supposed to want to live when everything–" she chokes out, " _everything_  reminds me of death? Reminds me of the only thing that mattered to me being dead? Screw you, Camila." Her voice grows louder. "Screw you for making me see all those colors. Screw you for making me connect them to you. Screw you for convincing me to go on that first date with you and screw you for making me fall in love."

Love. Love is red. Love is green. Love is yellow. Love is all these colors combined.

"I'll never stop loving you," Lauren eventually whispers dejectedly. "I'll never stop loving red, I'll never stop loving green, I'll never stop loving yellow. That's why I can't handle seeing them. It's why I've turned to alcohol. It's the only thing that helps me avoid all the colors. Because I love them. I hate them. I  _hate_  that I  _love_  them." She groans. Then shrugs almost unnoticeably. "I know all the risks, okay? Don't give me that look. I know what you'd tell me. But you're not here. And  _that_ 's the point. You're not here, I can't make you come back as easily as you made me fall for you." She searches for the right words. "And that's why– why I don't  _care_. I don't care about all the times I've woken up with headaches because I've tried to fill the void where my heart used to be with vodka. I don't care,  _okay_? It helps not seeing color. And, so _what_ if it slowly kills me?"

Lauren shakes as she whispers her last word for days, "At least it means I'm getting closer to being back with you every time I drink."

* * *

She leaves the cemetery without looking back. Doesn't pay any mind to the green of the vines or faded gray of the gates.

The only thing she notices going back home is that the vodka is thirty percent off.

She thanks the universe vodka is a colorless liquid over and over again as she drinks herself into a deep sleep. A sleep that is haunted by brown hair and white teeth, just like every other night of a life she doesn't think is worth living.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know the first chapter is, like, really sad but... as i said, there's more to come.
> 
> see u next chapter


	2. nobody like you (who are you?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> based on a Tumblr prompt: Person A (Camila) is a ghost who can't remember anything about their life. All they know is that they feel oddly compelled to follow round this very sad person (Lauren) who's always crying and hugging old T-shirts at night. What they don't know is that this person was their spouse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from now on, it's all in camila's pov.

The apartment is so familiar to her now. She remembers _all_ the colors. The furniture. Knows every corner. Every surface. She could probably close her eyes and still manage not to knock anything over. (She hasn't tried. Maybe she should, though, just to prove her theory.)

That is how well she knows the apartment.

Yet, the thing is – she _doesn't_ know _anything_ about the apartment.

She _did_ get here a few days ago – or maybe it's been weeks? Excuse her if her sense of time is a little screwed at the moment – but she can't remember ever having been here before that. Ever. And she might know where every chair, every table and every sink is, but that's about it.

 _Besides_ knowing exactly where everything is, she doesn't have any details. Nothing. The owner? She's got no idea who it is.

There's a girl living here. She _has_ found out that much. So she knows the apartment belongs to _someone_. But who she is, Camila has absolutely no idea. She can't place her anywhere.

Had they met during her 25 years of being alive? Or had they _not_? Is Camila here by luck? Pure chance?

And if the latter is the case – why does she feel like– like this place is somehow important to her? To _them_? Why is _everything_ so _confusing_?

Questions, and more questions, and Camila hasn't been able to find an answer to a single one of them.

* * *

Camila decided pretty early that she'd stay here during the nights. Somehow she knew – somehow she knew _right away_ – that there's something to this apartment. And that something still keeps her from leaving. Even though, technically, she doesn't even need to sleep. Like, at all. She never feels tired, either. It just that she– she feels like she needs to keep the girl company. And, yeah, no, the girl _can't_ see her, but she– she feels like it, anyway, okay? Don't judge her.

Most times, Camila sits down on the couch and waits for the sun to rise. Or she just stands in a corner, trying to remember something, _anything_ , about the life she'd lived. Nothing has come to her, yet, though. The only things she knows are her name, how _long_ she'd lived– and that's it. It's a little frustrating, really, but she's not giving up, Something's _got_ to come back at some point, right? Right. It's what she keeps telling herself.

Sometimes, however, Camila notices that the door to the girl's bedroom isn't closed. During these nights, Camila sneaks into said room and watches the girl. Some people might consider that creepy of some sort but, well, Camila isn't _actually_ there so– so she's not a stalker. She does feel like she's intruding every now and then except– she reminds herself that she can't be seen, and it calms her nerves.

Figuratively speaking.

Because she doesn't _have_ any nerves. Anymore.

Anyway. Tonight's not any different from all the other nights, really. At least not so far. The girl is sitting on the edge of her (really big) bed (which– why does a single person need a bed this big?), and she looks like she's doing some– drinking.

Or– no, she's rather– trying to encourage herself. Trying to calm her nerves.

(By _drinking_. Not exactly healthy, but who is _she_ – a _dead_ girl – to judge people's lifestyles?)

She looks like she's trying to– to get ready for something. Closes her eyes, breathes in, opens her eyes, breathes out. Repeats this multiple times.

Shoulders down. Head low. This is what the girl usually looks like. Tonight is no exception. Her hair's covering her face and pajama top. If Camila gets any closer, she can tell that her green eyes are– _glistening_?

Camila's suspicion is confirmed when the girl starts crying not long afterwards. So maybe– maybe she wasn't encouraging herself to do something. She was trying to hold back. Trying not to cry. Huh. This is new.

You see, in the days – _weeks_ – Camila's been here, she has never seen the girl cry like this.

But it doesn't worry her _that_ much. Not as much as the fact that– it seems– the girl is plagued by nightmares more often than not. Judging from how she'd wake up screaming every other night…

Which– sort of, _definitely_ , makes Camila feel sorry for her. She wishes she could help her get over her very obvious pain. She wishes– she wishes she knew more.

The girl then does something else that Camila has only seen her do once before. She opens a drawer next to her bed and– and freezes.

No more sobs, nothing. Just– silence.

It takes a few seconds for the girl to compose herself. To touch the fabric inside the drawer. It looks like – Camila can't see _everything_ – yeah, now that the girl has pulled it out completely, Camila can definitely recognize it as someone's shirt.

Leaving the drawer open, the girl lies down on her bed, the shirt held tight in her hands, and closes her eyes. There's still the occasional sob coming from her mouth, but something about the shirt seems to calm her down. To comfort her. Its scent, maybe? Or– the thought of whoever had worn it? A loved one who'd left her? Moved to another country?

Camila likes to imagine that whoever the shirt belonged to still thinks about Lauren sometimes in the same way Lauren seems to think about them.

And as she sits on the couch later waiting for the new day, Camila cannot get herself to stop smiling because of this exact thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> comments and/or kudos would be great.


	3. always be together (no way)

The following morning – or what she hopes _is_ the morning, anyway; again, her sense of time is, well, different – Camila opens her eyes. Just because ghosts don't need to sleep doesn't mean she can't enjoy the silence by closing her eyes.

She obviously expects to be in the apartment she's come to know because– because that's where she's been every morning so far but– but–

"Where am I?" It comes out even quieter than she intended it to be. She thinks she's scared because, seriously, where _is_ she?

There are white lights floating around her. No, actually, scratch that. They're blue. Or– or are they _purple_? _God_ , she was bad enough at identifying colors when she was still alive–

Everything is white. Around her. The floor, the walls, the– are they even walls? Is there a floor? It all looks the same. There's no way of telling when one thing ends and the other begins. If there even _is_ anything to end or begin.

Camila turns around. More white. Great. She looks up. Huh. Looks like– blue? The sky, maybe? Clouds?

Is she– okay, no, she cannot possibly be on a _cloud_ , now, can she? That'd be a little– a little over the top, even for her standards. Too dramatic.

She _has_ been walking around as a ghost lately, yes, but– but stranding on a cloud? _Really_?

And then there– there are _fountains_ all of a sudden. Old statues. And they're all– all _golden_. Camila closes her eyes. Surely she must have somehow fallen asleep and is having some kind of a really, _really_ weird dream.

But then again– she knows that ghosts can't sleep, so that basically already rules the dream theory out. Still, what is she– what's she doing here? And where exactly _is_ 'here'?

"Would someone–" Her voice cracks. So ghosts can be anxious. Good to know. "Would someone mind telling me what's going on?" There's an echo. Of course there is. "Where am I?" Seriously now, where the– heaven? _hell?_ – is she? What did she do to _get_ here? _Why_ is she–

"I know you must have a lot of questions," a voice suddenly interrupts her thinking.

Camila puts her arms up in case she has to defend herself. She can't see anybody. She turns. Once. Twice. The deep voice is echoing in her– _mind_. Or whatever a ghost has. "Who are you? Where– where am I?"

The– the _being_ lets out a laugh. "Forgive me, I forgot I was invisible for a second there."

Sure. Of course. That– that's something one just _forgets_ all the time. Camila turns around just in time to see someone materialize. It's a man with relatively dark skin, dressed in a – what else would it be – _white_ robe. It's long, and it has a few golden twirls on it. Camila looks up at him. He has white hair and a beard. It makes him look kind of old, she decides. ( _A lot old_ , she smirks to herself.)

"Of course you did," she chokes out in response to his words. She puts her hands down when she notices that he's probably not going to harm her. How _could_ someone in a white robe harm anyone else? Yeah, no. "Again. Who _are_ you? And what–"

"What are you doing here. Yes. Of course. Come," he gestures to a path in front of them (if one can even call it that; again, everything is _white_ ), "I'll show you around."

 _Showing her around_ mainly consists of the two of them walking for minutes, hours, _days_ for all Camila can tell, until they meet one more– more _being_. It's a woman – she has lighter skin than the man – with short blond hair. She's wearing the same robe.

"Okay, look, it's nice to meet you and all," Camila waves at the woman awkwardly and then turns back to the man, "but you still haven't answered any of my questions."

"Camila," the man says with a low voice, "the fact that we brought you here, that _you're here with us_ right now, means that something great is happening, something that may very well be beyond your understanding." He takes Camila's hand into his in a comforting manner.

Camila's already lost. "Um– okay? I mean– go– go on," she stutters. She's not intimidated in the slightest. Nope.

"Camila." This time, it's the woman who speaks. "I am going to try to explain matters to you as simply as I can."

Nodding dumbly, the young girl signals for her to continue.

"Very well," the woman says, "Camila, we are a council of elder whitelighters. Most whitelighters and witches refer to us as simply the Elders. All you need to know right now is that we, among others, are in charge of what happens on Earth."

Camila blinks.

The woman takes her other hand. "Camila. It was your destiny to die that day."

Okay, so she's dead. She's figured that much.

"Just like it had been your destiny to meet Lauren. And it had been hers to meet you. To lose you."

Lauren? Is that– _who_ 's Lauren?

The woman seems to sense her confusion. "It is normal for you not to remember her."

The other Elder takes over, "See, when mortals die, they are stripped of their memories. That happens after every life they live. Before they move on to the afterlife, they can choose to remain on Earth as ghosts – spirits – temporarily, to watch over their loved ones. The catch is – they do not know they were their loved ones since they cannot remember anything. And their loved ones do not see them, either."

Camila doesn't understand one bit of what the two are saying. She just blinks. Again and again. Trying to process, well, anything.

"What Zola is meaning to say is–" the blonde says, "of course you don not know who Lauren is. Because after you died, we erased your memories."

"But– _why_?"

"It happens to every mortal. Not just you, Camila."

"But why– _what_ am I doing here now? Why am I not moving on to the afterlife as I'm supposed to be? Or did I– did I not get that part right–" That's what these people were saying, right? They said that– that someone would move on, sooner or later–

"Yes, you did," the woman smiles encouragingly at her.

Camila furrows her eyebrow, still trying to get behind– behind what she's _doing_ here, what _they_ 're trying to say.

"Camila." The man kneels down suddenly. "As we said, your destiny was to die."

"I think I got that part." Camila lets out an awkward laugh, then clears her throat.

"We– what we did not expect, however, was for you and Lauren to share a love greater than anything we've ever seen before."

"And believe me, we have seen quite a lot," the woman looks at Camila and kneels down as well.

"Your love–" the male Elder continues, "your love goes beyond anything we have ever thought was possible for mortals to feel. For _anyone_ to feel. Your love– it is greater than even your destiny to lose each other. We understand that now. And far be it for us to keep the two of you apart. You and your–"

"Epic love," the woman finishes, smiles at the man next to her, and then at Camila.

A dumbstruck Camila who can neither say anything nor think.

So she and Lauren– the girl who– the girl who she has been watching over, apparently–

"Lauren was supposed to be able to deal with the loss like any other person. But we soon– we soon realized that we had been wrong. That we had made a mistake in tearing you apart. That this case – your case – was not like any other we had come across before. You two have something special. And we want to give it back to you. We have come to understand that Lauren cannot live without you."

"So we want to send you back."

" _Excuse me_?" Camila bursts out in a high pitched voice. She raises an eyebrow at the two in front of her and steps back, not quite trusting her– her ears.

"We cannot bring you back from the dead, of course," the man stands up and smiles sympathetically.

"What we _can_ do, however," the female Elder continues, standing up as well, "is– make you a whitelighter."

Camila swallows the lump in her throat.

"Yes, Camila," the man takes over again, "we will turn you into a whitelighter. So that you can go back to your love. Embrace what you had. _Have_. Together."

"I don't– I don't know what to–" Camila shakes her head, trying to make herself understand what's going on right now. A– a _whitelighter_? She's supposed to be a– _how_? What even _is_ a whitelighter? And– is she– "Will I get my memories back?" She wants to know. Needs to know. Because what's the use of all of– of all of _this_ if she can't remember a single thing about her _love_?

Both Elders nod. The woman elaborates, "Yes. As a whitelighter, you have this privilege. As soon as you are back down on Earth, you will get your memories."

"Actually," the male Elder chimes in, "you will get memories from all of your past lives. Another little whitelighter privilege." He smiles.

"Of course," Camila mumbles. "And what exactly does that mean?"

"Oh, nothing, really," he says, "and don't worry, you will certainly be able to tell the memories apart. You will know which memories are from the one life that matters. You will be able to differentiate. You– you will know. You will be shown only a few moments of your other past lives–"

"–but we will make sure you remember every aspect of your life with Lauren," the woman finishes.

Admittedly, this is all a little much. A teeny tiny bit too much. Even for a ghost. It just– she feels like– she slips into a slumber. And she sleeps. For quite a while, too.

* * *

When Camila wakes, the two Elders are there, waiting for her, smiling their– their– Elder-y smile– it's so wise and all _teeth_ and so– so _fitting_ that–

"Are you ready now?" the male Elder – Zola or whatever – asks.

But– oh, no. This is all– no. "Seriously?" Camila bursts out, finally having the courage to say this, "You're just dropping this– this bombshell on me and expect me to be all– all _okay_ with– with _everything_? I mean first I'm– _dead_. I'm supposed to be. Okay, that's okay, I got over that part. But then I somehow defy death. Or not really. But my destiny, anyway. Even though, technically, that's an impossibility. And then I– I'm back, but _not really_ , because I don't remember anything. And suddenly I'm in heaven– or on a cloud– which– a goddamn cloud? Really? That's a little cliché, don't you think? And– and also– this whole whitelighter business? You two–" Camila throws her hands up in the air exasperatedly, "you're not actually expecting me to understand a word of what you told me, right? I mean– I mean I _do_ want to get back with Lauren. At least I think I do. Since you made it sound so promising. But the truth is– I, for one, do not even remember ever having been in love. Or engaged. Or _married_. For crying out loud, I don't understand anything." She's feeling so irritated. But at least she's got it all out. Yes, she might have been a little loud, and she doesn't know if yelling at Elders is allowed, but– whatever– right?

"We did not mean to upset you," the female Elder – what is her _name_? – tries to calm her down. She touches Camila's arm gently. "All we want is for you to be happy. And you were at your happiest when you were with Lauren."

"But how can I know that? God, I don't know anything but my own name. How the _hell_ do I– I don't– none of this makes sense. I'm supposed to have this epic love story going on for me – us – but I don't– I don't remember any of it. Neither how it started nor how it ended. I don't know if–" Camila's just so _frustrated_ that she starts crying. She didn't know ghosts were capable of feeling like– like this, this _strongly_ , but here she is, _crying_ , and she lets herself be embraced by the nameless female Elder.

(Okay, no, seriously now, what _is_ her name?)

"Sh," she makes, "what you are feeling is guilt. You think – because you do not have your memories – that your feelings are gone. But that is not true. They are still there. Deep inside you. Somewhere. You will see once you are back down there. I promise. _We_ promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (yes this is based on charmed. it's literally my favorite show ever so like. yea)
> 
> i like this chapter a lot tbh. so kudos and comments would be amazing. thanks for reading this piece of garbage. 
> 
> btw if you ever wanna hmu on tumblr and talk or send me prompts or whatever: it's kaufmirsterne


	4. the beginning (everlasting love)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Camila comes back.

It feels weird. Like she's floating or something. Like she's– like she's still on that cloud. But she knows she's not. No, in fact she's back at _the_ apartment. _Their_ apartment. Standing in front of Lauren's– _their_ bed.

And it– it's so different from all the other times. The past few times, anyway. It's different because she's really here now. Not as a ghost, but– as a– a whitelighter.

She's not completely sure what it means yet, but for now– she can _feel_ and she's _here_ , where Lauren is, too, and she's happy.

Still, it's all so incredibly weird. One second she's here in spirit form, the next second she's above the clouds, with the Founders of the Earth of whatever, who tell her she and Lauren have managed something that is literally _impossible_ , and now she's here for real, and she's something she didn't know _existed_.

(Does she even really _exist_? In the actual sense of the word? What the–)

She remembers everything. _Everything_. Which is– wasn't she _dead_? How does she– God, she's going to get a major headache from trying to figure this out. (Can whitelighters get headaches?)

She remembers her time with Lauren. Her own death, too, strangely enough. Even her time as a ghost. Just wandering around the apartment, not knowing that she _belonged_ there. Not knowing that it was _her_ shirt that kept Lauren sane in the nights in which the pain almost became unbearable.

Camila turns around and walks into the living room.

Standing in front of the window and letting the world do its thing, she lets her mind wander to everything that's happened just now.

It's only been a few hours since she got her powers. She had to lie down for quite a while after she received not only the power to orb anytime, orb anywhere, orb anyone she wanted to, and the power to heal her loved ones, but also her memories. It all came back so suddenly that Camila felt like a wave was crashing down onto her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it. It just came closer and closer until finally, Camila was washed away. Into the land of dreams. Nightmares. Nothingness. Yes, it was all so sudden that it knocked her out.

She remembers that she came to on the couch right behind her, and even though her feelings are different and new – a side effect of being a whitelighter, she supposes, feeling emotions differently – they're also _old_ and _familiar_. It's the same kind of familiarity she felt when she first came into Lauren's apartment as a ghost, not knowing _how_ she belonged there, just knowing _that_ she belonged there. Kind of, anyway.

Yes, she remembers having felt these emotions a long time ago.

It's good to be back now, she decides.

* * *

Camila realizes that she missed being able to not only see everything but also _touch_ it. _Smell_ it. And, God, she can smell Lauren everywhere. It's like everything's being put back into place. The feelings. Everything. For good.

Blood's rushing through her veins. She feels her pulse get faster. Her heart starts racing. Or maybe she's just imagining it. Because, yeah, technically she's _dead_. You know, another minor side effect of being a whitelighter.

It's ironic, really – how alive she's feeling.

And that's just from _thinking_ about Lauren.

She doesn't know how exactly any of this is possible – feeling alive without _being_ alive – but she'll take it. As long as it means she can be with Lauren – she'll take it. No matter what.

It's still real. Their _love_ is real, it's great, it's _epic_ , even. It's her destiny. Sharing this one-of-a-kind-love with Lauren.

She can't wait to see Lauren now. She knows the girl's going to freak out, but they'll deal with it. They're destined to be together, after all.

Nothing can tear them apart. Not the Elders, not fate, _nothing_.

Together, they're greater than life itself, greater than _death_ , even, and that's enough for Camila; to know that, however Lauren reacts at first, they're going to be able to pull through it, _together_ , and they'll live their life to the fullest.

Together.

It takes a second for Camila to notice that Sandra (yes, she finally got to know her name) has orbed in behind her.

"Camila," she greets simply.

"What do you want? Why are you here?" Camila whispers.

"I have a few last words for you. I needed to get them out."

"I'm listening."

Sandra steps closer and puts her hand on Camila's cheek. "You've been granted a second chance, dear." Her fingers stroke the young girl's face softly. "Not everyone gets that. In fact, few people get it. You're very lucky, you know?" Her smile is sad when she finishes, "Don't waste it."

* * *

Camila hears Lauren unlock the door from outside.

 _This is it_. She orbs out quickly enough for Lauren not to notice the little white and blue lights that her orbing leaves behind.

She waits until Lauren is distracted putting the– putting all the _alcohol_ away to orb back into the room.

"Hello, Lauren."

The girl jumps slightly. Bottles clink. Then she turns around. Her eyes grow wide. She– "Camz?" She doesn't sound too sober, but, like, Camila can look past that. As in, she really doesn't care right now.

"In the flesh." Well– that's not entirely true. Camila looks down at the floor, slightly embarrassed. "So to speak," she quietly adds. Then chuckles. God, she's so happy to finally be this close to Lauren again.

(The girl reeks of vodka but, again, Camila doesn't care.)

She knows she'll be able to touch Lauren this time, too. She can't believe she _forgot_ how much she craved the girl's presence.

"But how–" Lauren steps closer, probably trying to make herself believe that this is real. That Camila is really there.

The truth is, if the roles were reversed – if it were Lauren suddenly _orbing_ back into Camila's life – Camila wouldn't be sure if she would trust her senses, either.

"I don't understand," Lauren whispers. Her eyes are filled with tears. "You were _gone_ , Camila. You  _died_. How is it possible for you to be here right now?" Lauren shakes her head slightly.

"Do you believe in magic?" This time, it's Camila who takes a step closer. She touches Lauren's cheek, and the girl leans into her instantly. "Well," Camila breathes, "even if you haven't until now – I think it's time that you do." She smiles at her– her _wife_. God, this girl in front of her is her _wife_. When– how did she get this lucky?

No wonder even the Elders couldn't keep them apart. What she's feeling is– it's– so _strong_. Camila– she _loves_ how Lauren makes her feel so– _so_ – ugh, she just makes her _feel_. In the few days, weeks, months as a ghost, she'd forgotten what it was like to _feel_.

"What are you?" Lauren wants to know. Her eyes are closed, and she's still leaning into Camila's touch.

"A whitelighter. I– I can orb. I can heal. I can– I can–" Camila swallows, "I _remember_." Tears are running down her face when she says the words, "I can feel."

"But you were– dead," Lauren sobs.

"Sometimes–" Camila's voice breaks. It takes a second for her to recompose. "Sometimes, it doesn't end there," she explains quietly. "Everything happens for a reason, Lauren. You were supposed to feel the loss, to learn from it. So was I. It was our destiny. But our love– was stronger than that. Can you imagine?" Camila laughs weakly through her tears. "Our love– our love was stronger than everything the world has ever known. _Is_ stronger."

"So– it's not over?"

"No, this is only the beginning. Believe me."

"I do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i would love kudos and comments. how did you like the story? did you even like it at all? i'd really appreciate some feedback. 
> 
> i haven't been too motivated lately but i got myself to start writing a few days ago and i have two works in progress now, one of which i hope to finish very soon. because i at least have ideas for it given it was a prompt. the other... i'll see. 
> 
> sorry for rambling. have a good day, hope to see you soon xx


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